


Drawn to Her

by thewomanlovestheposhboy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2020-09-25 07:14:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20372806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewomanlovestheposhboy/pseuds/thewomanlovestheposhboy
Summary: Irene Adler, also known as The Woman to Sherlock, has always been a mystery to the clever detective. The feelings that The Woman makes Sherlock feel baffles him even more. Would he be able to solve the Woman's mystery and would his feelings fade or would it become stronger?





	1. Chapter 1

"I'm sorry about dinner."

Sherlock walked out of the room after he had given The Woman's phone to his brother. After a few steps away from the door, he leaned on the wall for support. His knees suddenly felt weak. He heaved a deep sigh and looked up at the ceiling.

He's hurt and confused. He's confused because he's hurt. He had never felt this way before. 'Is this sentiment?', he thought to himself. He shook his head to dismiss the thought. He knew he can't feel this way because sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side, and he didn't lose. He has out-witted The Woman. But why did he feel like running back to the room to apologize to her and give her safety?

'She deserves this', he told himself. Or did she? She did use him for her own selfish reasons, but he knew that's not the whole truth. The signs he saw, how her pulse elevated and how her pupils dilated, were proofs that her sentiment for him was true. And even if she did use him, he can't help but admire The Woman in an intellectual way. She's witty and intelligent, and different from all the mundane women he met. She's the only woman who made him feel this way.

Sherlock's too used to being so sure about everything, but right now, he's baffled as to what these feelings inside of him meant.

He could hear his brother talking to the Woman from the other side of the wall. He didn't want her to see him like this, so he started to walk away. There was only one place he could think of to find refuge, 221B Baker Street.

* * *

Sherlock's now in his blue robe and pyjamas, looking out the window while playing his violin. It's been a week since the night he last saw the woman in his brother's office.

"Sherlock, dinner's ready." John called out to him from the kitchen but got no reply. Sherlock remained silent playing the violin.

"You've got to eat something, dear." Mrs. Hudson said, full of concern while she was setting the table.

"Sherlock!" John shouted.

Sherlock stopped playing, returned his violin on its stand and sat on his armchair. "I'm not hungry."

"Sherlock, dear, you haven't eaten for days. In order to live, you must eat something." Mrs. Hudson approached Sherlock and rested her hand in his shoulders.

"Ah, living, living is boring." he sighed.

John and Mrs. Hudson exchanged looks and sighed.

John, is troubled because of the state of his friend. Something was wrong with his friend and he knew that. It wasn't normal. Well, nothing is normal when it comes to Sherlock, but this was different.

John fished out his phone from his pocket and dialled the only person he could think of that could help in this situation.

An hour later, they heard someone knock on the door.

Sherlock grumbled because he already knew who it was. "You called him?!" he asked John.

"I have no choice. You listen to none of our pleas." John answered.

"What makes you think I'll listen to him?" Sherlock grumbled and plopped himself on the sofa.

John sighed and opened the door.

"Dr. Watson." Mycroft greeted him with a nod. John nodded at him as a reply.

Mycroft walked inside the room and eyed his brother.

"Ah, brother mine. How are you?" Mycroft said.

With that question, Sherlock suddenly sat up and smiled at his brother. "I'm fine. I don't need you. There's the door. You can leave now. Bye." Sherlock said and pointed at the door.

Mycroft rolled his eyes because of frustration.

Mycroft sat on John's chair "I expected more from you. I never thought I'd see you in this pathetic state, brother mine. But then again, there's no one to blame but me. I have thrown you into her path and now..."

"I don't need any of your lectures, brother mine." Sherlock retorted.

"Oh, but you do, Sherlock. Sentiment is getting the best of you, and believe me, it would do you no good if you surrender to it. What was it that you said? 'Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side.'" Mycroft looked at his brother with the steely gaze of his.

At those words, Sherlock clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, making his jaw clench. "I can very much recall my own words without your help, Mycroft." He wanted to land his fists on his brother to release the pent up emotions within him. He was furious. At whom? His brother, for always making him feel inferior? At John, for calling his brother here? At The Woman, for making him feel 'sentiment'? No, no. He knew he wasn't mad at them. He's mad at himself. He's mad at himself for being weak, for letting his emotions leave cracks on the wall he's built for years to serve as his protection.

Sherlock stood up from his chair and went towards the window to stare at nothing in particular. He wanted to distract himself. He wanted to escape his flat this moment. To run and separate himself from everything and everyone.

"Sherlock.." Mycroft attempted to close the distance between him and his brother but stopped at his tracks. He knew that Sherlock is too much affected by that Adler woman and that he needed time. It's what he always needed in times like these.

Mycroft heaved a sigh. He knew what his brother's mind is capable of, or at least has an idea on what it's capable of. His brother's mind is like a scientist's or a philosopher's but he had no idea what his brother's heart could do. With that thought, his concern for his brother's well-being grew even greater. Whenever he looked at Sherlock, he saw Sherlock's 12-year old state who needed guidance and care.

No matter how much he wanted to talk some sense into his brother, he knew that he can't. Sherlock would block every word that he'd say. That's how stubborn Sherlock is.

Mycroft turned to John Watson who was standing against the doorway, watching intently on the brothers' exchange of words.

Mycroft could see how concerned John is for his brother, and he was thankful for that. With John in the picture, there's someone who can look after his brother when he isn't physically around. Although sometimes, he envies John's relationship with his brother because Sherlock is a lot more closer to John than Sherlock is with him.

Mycroft shrugged the thought away and nodded at John's direction. He walked towards the door. But a step away from the door, he stopped and glanced back at Sherlock who still remained standing while looking outside the window.

"Look after him, John." Mycroft told John with a weak smile. John just nodded and closed the door when Mycroft got out.

Sherlock watched as his brother slipped inside the black sedan and waited for it to disappear from his sight.

"I'll be upstairs if you need me." John said from behind.

"Why would I need you?" Sherlock answered.

"No reason at all." John replied and went up the stairs.

Sherlock waited until he heared the lock from John's door. When he finally heard it and was sure that John was inside his room, he diverted hus eyes away from the window and went to his room. He suddenly felt drained, as if the energy was snatched away from him. Maybe it was because of the encounter with his brother, or the fact that he hasn't gotten any sleep since the night he was able to guess The Woman's passcode. Alas, he wanted to get some sleep and finally be able to rest.

When he plopped onto his bed, a familiar scent came rushing into his senses- Casmir. He was suddenly alerted by it. The scent has triggered something within him. The emotions he felt a while ago is now ten-fold. He now remembered why he didn't want to sleep. His bed still smelled of her scent. Her perfume still lingered in his room and it was affecting him in a way he can't understand. He grumbled and got up from his bed. He's not going to get any decent amount of sleep tonight after all.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	2. Chapter 2

Stripped off of any protection, The Woman had to be on the run.

She quickly paced around her house in Belgravia and gathered all the things she could bring. She grabbed a suitcase and shoved all the things she needed. She had to leave a lot of her belongings behind.

She sat on her bed and looked around her room and sighed. This was supposed to be the place where she'll settle down, but that's not gonna happen anymore.

Thanks to the emotions she wasn't able to resist, her camera phone, which served as her get-out-of-jail-free-card, is now in the hands of the Ice Man.

She had nothing in her possession that could shield her from the enemies she had made in the past due to her dangerous lifestyle.

She can't stay in London anymore. It would be easy for her enemies to locate her if she'll stay here any longer. But where's she supposed to go? She had no friends, no family, she had no one. Well, she had Kate, but she didn't want to drag her into this. Kate was a good and loyal companion, and she didn't want any collateral damage. If she could get Kate out of this, she would. It's the least thing she could do for the service that Kate had given her.

There's only one person she could think of right now, but she feared that that person might not want anything to do with her. Well, she did use him and she knew that he was hurt. She saw it in his eyes when she walked past through him in that plane. She knew he felt betrayed at that moment.

She could still remember the words he said when he finally learned her passcode. The way he said those words showed that he was hurt and angry. The way his gaze pierced into hers was full with intensity she could almost feel the emotions he felt. She felt so guilty at that moment. She saw in his eyes how much pain her betrayal had caused. The guilt was too much to bear, but she wasn't able to look away from his eyes. She wanted him to see in her eyes how sorry she was. She allowed her walls to come down and let her tears be seen.

Her eyes started to glaze with tears due to the memory of that night. She had lost more than she bargained for. She had lost the game, she lost everything she had worked for, and she also lost her heart. That day in Belgravia, when she first met him, with her, wearing nothing but black louboutins and diamond earrings, her heart no longer belonged to her. From that day it became the possession of the man whose definition of love is nothing but a dangerous disadvantage, the man that considers love nothing but a chemical defect, the world's only consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes.

She never thought it would happen. The idea of having these feelings toward a person never crossed her mind before. Yes, in her line of job, she gave her clients sexual pleasure, but she only enjoyed her job because she's able to exploit people's weaknesses and it made her feel superior. She does love being in control.

Irene softly chuckled to an idea that formed in her head, the world must really be pulling off a huge joke for letting two people, who seemed to not have the capability of loving and be loved, have these feelings toward each other. The thought brought a sad smile to her face. Now that her heart was finally craving for something she genuinely wanted, she can't have it. It was like asking for the moon.

Irene stood up and shrugged her thoughts away. This is not a time for her to be sentimental, she had to go in order to survive. She took her suitcase and started towards the door.

When she got out, she took one last look at the house. This was the closest thing to home for her. She liked this place. It's a shame she had to leave it.

Her taxi arrived and then she instructs the cabbie to take her to Heathrow airport.

As much as she wanted to get to the airport as soon as possible, the London traffic wasn't that kind to her. Irene looked outside the window and stared at the night sky.

She could only see a few stars due to the light pollution in the city. She remembered one of John's blogs, the one about Sherlock not knowing that the earth revolves around the sun. She smiled at the thought of it but her smile faded immediately. She wasn't even able to say goodbye to him. She wondered, 'What could Sherlock be doing right now?'

* * *

Sherlock's eyes were focused at the screen of his laptop, waiting for a message, as his hands were steepled under his chin. When a notification finally popped on the screen, indicating that he had received a message, he quickly opened it.

The message says:

_ **She has left. She's going to Heathrow airport and is currently stuck in traffic.** _

Sherlock steepled his hands again. 'Where could she be going?' he thought to himself.

He typed a message and sent it to his Homeless network:

_ **Follow her and find out what her flight details are.** _

He pressed the send button and closed the laptop

He leaned back on his chair and stared at the crackling fire in the hearth. He didn't need to this. 'Why am I even keeping tabs on her? I'm not her babysitter,' he told himself.

Sherlock groaned. Well, he couldn't get her off of his head. He couldn't eat and sleep. He's tired and frustrated but his conscience kept him up. He knew what could happen to her. He knew exactly what the consequences were when he gave her phone to his brother. He did it because it was for the greater good, but why did these emotions pool inside of him? He gritted his teeth out of frustration.

His phone buzzed and he shoved it out of his pocket. It's a message from one of his homeless network:

_ **Got her flight details. She's going to India.** _

India, huh? Well, since he couldn't get her off his mind, he decided that he might as well keep himself busy by trying to keep track of her. The Woman always was a puzzle to him. Who knows, he might eventually solve her mystery if he did this. At that thought, he smiled.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hope this isn't too OOC. ** **I hope you enjoy it. Reviews are treasured by this author, so feel free to leave some.**

* * *

John woke up to the sound of clanking equipments coming from the kitchen. He quickly got up and went down to see what his flatmate is up to.

When he finally got into the kitchen, it was no surprise to him that the kitchen table was full of lab equipments. There were test tubes and beakers filled with liquids (god knows what), bunsen burners and severed body parts in Ziploc and glass containers.

"You busy?" John asked while he eyed a glass container which seems to be filled with human tongues. "Sherlock, are those tongues?"

"I'm not busy, John. I'm just merely passing the time while waiting-" Sherlock answered without taking his eyes off the microscope. If John was as keen as he was, he would have seen that Sherlock gulped because he almost slipped. He can't tell John about tracking down Irene. He knows that John doesn't like Irene's company.

"Waiting for what?" John asked.

"Nothing." Sherlock answered.

John frowned. "A case? Is that what you're waiting for?"

Sherlock glanced at John. He was relieved that his friend wasn't as observant as he was. "Yes, yes, I'm waiting for case." A lie. A lie that he felt he needed to say. For him, it's better this way.

"You don't need that right now, Sherlock. What you need is rest." John said sternly.

"I don't need that." Sherlock glanced back at the microscope.

"Have you looked at the mirror lately, Sherlock? You look bloody awful. You haven't had a blink of sleep!" John said, completely frustrated at how Sherlock is being so stubborn.

John's completely concerned about the well-being of his friend. Sherlock looks pale and already has dark rings under his eyes because of the lack of sleep, and John knows that his friend's health is suffering.

John sighed. Sherlock didn't even look at him, he just continued to adjust the focus of the microscope.

"Look, Sherlock. If you don't care about your health, we do. Mrs. Hudson and I are worried about you. Just please, get some sleep and eat as much as possible." John pleaded.

Sherlock looked at John and tried to deduce the emotions visible in his facial expressions. He can see that he's frustrated, mad, and concerned.

"Fine." Sherlock finally stood up and took a cold sandwich from the fridge. "Happy now?"

"And please, sleep Sherlock." John pleaded again.

Sherlock sighed. "Fine then. I won't eat. I'd rather sleep. I don't have the appetite to eat anyway."

Sherlock handed the sandwich to John and started towards this bedroom door. As he held the doorknob, he braced himself for the flood of emotions he's going to feel once he has entered the room. When he finally opened the door, he immediately caught a whiff of a scent that is very familiar to him. One of the rooms in his mind palace smells exactly the same. It's the Woman's perfume. Instead of fighting the emotions, he allowed himself to feel it. Memories of The Woman came rushing to him. The day when he first met her, The day when he followed John and learned that she was not dead, The night when he took her pulse and stared at her blue irises slowly engulfed by the black of her pupils as it dilated, and the moment he had entered the passcode of her camera phone.

Sherlock sighed at stared at his bed. He could still see the image of her, sleeping peacefully on his bed. She looked immaculate and gentle without makeup. It's one of her images kept in his mind palace. He closed his eyes and sighed.

He plopped himself on his bed and concentrated on the scent of her perfume. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to slip into his mind palace.

In his mind palace, he searched for the room where he kept memories of her. When he found it, he entered it and there he saw her, smiling knowingly at him, wearing her battle dress.

"Mr. Holmes.." she purred.

He stared at her. He let his eyes wander through her body. She was absolutely beautiful. When he first saw her like this, he tried so hard to look only at her face, but with his mind's perceptiveness, he was able to take in her body measurements. He fought so hard to control his hands from touching her skin and feel how smooth and soft it was.

Her room in his mind palace is no other than her sitting room in Belgravia. The room looks exactly the same when he saw it. The white couches, elegant furniture, and the white curtains draped on the tall windows making the room look brighter.

The image of Irene in his mind walked up to him and touched his face. The feeling made Sherlock panic. It's something he's never experienced before. It's alien for him and he hated it when there's something he didn't know. He wanted to touch her face too, he wanted to touch her, to lose control. But no, he won't let that happen. Even if it's just in his head, he wouldn't let himself lose control and be careless. The last time he was careless, he deciphered an email and England almost fell on it's knees because of a clever dominatrix.

He opened his eyes and came back to reality. He could still feel her touching his face, as if it really happened. He groaned and buried his head in the pillows. That's enough thoughts about The Woman for today. Besides, he's already found someone in India who could track her and give him updates. He closed his eyes and finally, after days without eating and rest, he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	4. Chapter 4

Irene's lying on a cold concrete floor and her whole body was aching.

It's been a month since she was captured by a terrorist cell in Karachi and she only had a few hours left before her execution.

The terrorists constantly sent videos of her to the British government, saying that they would use her to demonstrate what they would do to western women, who for them, are rubbish, nothing but filth, and dark temptations for their men.

Irene tried to get up and winced as pain from her side shot through her body.

No one had ever seen the woman cry, well except for a handful of people. Her walls have never faltered and failed her. She had always been strong in front of others. Her presence always screamed elegance, beauty, and power. Whenever her captors were around, she puts her mask on to show them that they cannot destroy her, that nothing they do would affect and break her. But now that she's alone, slumped on the floor in her cell with nobody to see her, she allowed tears to drop from her eyes. There's no use of pretending when no one's looking. She had lost her hope. Yes, she's smart and brilliant enough to use her wits and escape but her body is weak and barely had strength to stand up. The terrorists have left scars in her back, and bruises on her torso and limbs due to whipping and torture. They also haven't fed her for a week.

She knew this would happen, at least in one way she did. She expected that her enemies would be able to track her and get a hold of her. She knew that it would happen one way or another. But her, ending up in this cell was out of bad luck. She had apparently made too many enemies due to her dangerous way of living. She succeeded in outrunning the men after her but has fallen into the hands of terrorists when she went to the middle east to try and find a safe place to hide. But nonetheless, she expected that something bad would happen to her, so she needed to put her faith on someone.

When she left London, she knew that Sherlock Holmes would try to track her. So wherever she went, she left clues that only Sherlock Holmes could find. Knowing that he was hurt, she wasn't a hundred percent sure that he would do that, but she still hoped he would.

It's been a month now since she was captured. If Sherlock Holmes really did keep track of her, he would've found her already. Irene trusts the man's ability and intellect. Locating her would be so easy for him, especially because she left clues. So, why isn't he here?

He probably thought it's best to let her die. Irene sighed and accepted her doomed fate.

She looked up at the small window located at the top left part of the wall in her cell. She could see the stars through it. Her lips curved into a sad smile. She remembered the night of her flight away from London.

That night, she felt so invigorated but scared. Invigorated because she never felt so alive due to the fact that she was on the run and is enjoying the thrill of running away from danger, but the stars she saw that night looked so dim because of the light pollution in the city. It's so unlike now that she's slumped on the floor, barely even alive, but the stars are glittering brightly in the night sky.

Is this a joke? She thought to herself. That the time she felt so alive, the stars looked so dim, but now that her life is about to end, the stars are twinkling brightly? Is she really that evil to deserve to die that even the heavens seem to celebrate because of her doomed fate?

Her thoughts were disrupted by a knock on her cell door.

Upon hearing the knock, Irene immediately composed herself and put her mask on, not willing to show any weakness to the men who have captured her and are about to execute her.

The door opened and a man holding a rifle, wearing a black kameez and kurta, entered her cell.

The man spoke in a language she did not understand. He was obviously commanding her to do something but she can't understand anything, so she didn't move nor utter a word. But if she did understand him, why would she obey him? She isn't the type of woman that would allow anyone to tell her what to do. If she only had enough strength, she would make this man kneel and beg for mercy.

The man obviously got pissed because she didn't move and obey him, so he walked towards her in two long strides and forced her to stand up. She winced in pain but managed to make no sound that would indicate that she was suffering.

The man dragged her out of the cell and led her into a large room where there were bright lights and a camera. Seeing those, she realized that this is where they'd execute her. And they were also going to film it for the whole world to see. She froze for a moment. Knowing that death is upon her, fear overcame the whole of her. She wanted to flee but with her body condition, she knew that trying to escape would be in vain.

'So, this is it,' she thought to herself. 'If this is how I'd die, seeing that there is no hope that I'd escape it, unless Sherlock Holmes magically appears in front of me, I'd might as well accept my fate and die with dignity.'

The man made her kneel in front of the camera and positioned her for the execution.

They were about to motion the executioner to do his assigned task when Irene spoke.

"Can I make one request? Does anyone of you understand English? I just want to do one last thing before I die."

Irene looked at the men who were looking at each other as if trying to decide whether they'd allow her to do what she has requested or not. She wasn't even sure that anyone of them understood her. One of the men walked towards the man who seemed to have a high position in the group and whispered something. The man with the high position, upon hearing whatever the man had whispered, furrowed his eyebrows and looked at Irene skeptically, and nodded.

Irene now knew that the man who have whispered something to the high-positioned man had understood her and translated what she said.

"I wish to use my phone one last time. That's my only request, and then you may go on with the execution." She stated, without any emotion present in her voice.

Again, the man who understood her translated what she has said, and fortunately, the high-positioned man had agreed to grant her request.

The man who had understood her went to the corner of the room where a small table is located and opened the drawer where he fished her phone out. It was apparently the drawer where they had hidden her belongings.

The man handed her the phone. "Be quick." The man ordered in heavily accented English.

Irene immediately went to the messaging menu and composed a message. She typed: "Goodbye, Mr. Holmes." and hit the send button. If there was anyone she'd message, of course it would be him. She knew that if he'd read it, he'd automatically decipher the message hidden in the phrase. Although, it really wasn't hidden. It just wasn't direct to the point. She wanted to say goodbye to him because it was also her a way of saying sorry in a subtle manner, and she just wanted to leave one last superficial mark on him. He might never admit it, but she knew that she had left a mark on him.

After sending the message, she handed her phone back and prepared herself.

She closed her eyes and bowed her head and heard footsteps of a man coming close to her. It was the executioner. She felt the blade of the sword on her nape and at that moment, the dam of her emotions broke. She allowed tears to escape her eyes but she managed not to create a sound. She was going to die, Irene Adler would no longer exist, but who would care? It's not as if anyone would shed a tear for her.

And then, she heard a familiar sound, a very familiar sound.

It was a feminine sound. It was a woman's moan. Not just any woman, it was her. It was her moan. But why would she hear such a sound?

She looked up and faced the executioner.

She immediately saw the executioner's eyes and felt her lips curve into a smile. She felt as if life that was drained out of her, was poured back in.

In the executioner's eyes, she saw the most familiar heterochromatic eyes to her, she would recognize it anywhere.

The feminine sound she heard was undeniably hers, and she knew this because she recorded the sound herself and saved it to personalize her text alert noise in a phone who belonged to none other than, Sherlock Holmes.

She wasn't going to die after all, Sherlock Holmes had come to save her.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	5. Chapter 5

What she felt at that exact moment was happiness. She had never been this happy in her life. 'But is this real or is her mind just playing tricks on her?' she thought.

"When I say run, run." Sherlock uttered in his baritone voice before turning away from her to attack the man behind him.

Hearing his voice was so reassuring. It's really him. He's really here to save her, but everything still seemed too surreal.

She was still too surprised at the turn of events that she almost didn't hear Sherlock's voice shouting for her to run.

Irene gathered all her strength and stood up, ignoring the pain that shot through her body when she moved. She ran, limping, for the exit. When she reached the doorway, she looked back at Sherlock who was skillfully fighting off the terrorists. For a moment, she feared that the terrorists would overpower Sherlock and kill him, but she realized that Sherlock was too smart to rush into a battle that he didn't prepare for. She knew that he had planned everything out.

Then, Irene heard a loud bang behind her which made her lose her balance. It must have been a bomb that Sherlock had planted in order to distract the terrorists.

With adrenaline coursing through her veins, the pain she felt subsided a little which allowed Irene to run. As she ran through series of hallways to find the exit, she came to a corridor lined with doors. 'Where is that bloody exit?' She stopped at her tracks as she heard voices and footsteps from the other end. 'Now, this is just great.' She's in no condition to fight. Her only option is to hide in one of the rooms. But what if she enters a room full of terrorists? The sound of voices and footsteps gets closer, giving Irene not enough time to think of any plans. 'Sod this' Irene opened a door and hid in the room. Fortunately, the room was empty. She pressed her ears against the door to listen to the sound of voices. She waited until the voices were out of earshot. She slowly opened the door and peeked to check whether the corridor was clear. When she was sure it was safe, she continued looking for the exit. She came to a hallway full of rubble. It was where Sherlock planted the bomb. The explosion created a big hole in a wall which gave her a way directly to the dusty road outside the building.

She ran outside and scanned her surroundings and saw nothing but desert around her. Sandy plains stretched for miles, and there were no houses near the building.

Where's she supposed to go now? Then, she thought of Sherlock. 'How did he get here?' she asked herself. She circled the building and saw a black sedan parked behind the building. Irene approached the car and found that it isn't locked, so she entered it and searched for the keys but found nothing. Sherlock must have taken it with him.

Irene glanced at the back seats and saw a gun. She grabbed it and checked whether it was loaded or empty. She wasn't surprised to see that the magazine was full.

Sherlock might be incredibly intelligent but he was alone, he might get hurt. She has to go back for him.

Irene got out of the car and ran back inside the building. She could hear gunshots and shouting from afar. Her worry becomes greater and her heart rate becomes faster.

When she got to the room where she was supposed to be executed, she saw Sherlock wrestling with a man and was about to be stabbed with a knife.

"Sherlock!" Irene cried.

The man who was wrestling with Sherlock looked at her. This gave Sherlock a chance to kick the man's groin and free himself from the man's grip. The man cried out in pain but was able to get a hold of Sherlock's arm again and pin him to the ground.

"Shoot him, Irene!" Sherlock shouted.

"You might get hit!" Irene replied.

"Just do it!"

Irene has a good aim. But the fact that the target was a moving object and that Sherlock might get hit if she missed, dn't help to calm her nerves. But nonetheless, Irene aimed the gun at the man and pulled the trigger.

Fortunately, she was able to hit the man exactly at his head. The corpse of the dead man fell on top of Sherlock, pinning him on tge ground. Because of this, Irene had never been more thankful for her good aim.

Irene suddenly felt like her energy was snatched away from her. Her vision went black and her body collapsed on the floor.

Sherlock didn't notice Irene collapsing because he was trying to get the dead man off of him. "Thank-" Sherlock was about to thank Irene but when he looked at the spot where he last saw Irene, his words trailed off at the sight of Irene's limp body on floor. He ran towards Irene and cradled her.

Sherlock's ever hyper-aware mind became focused solely on Irene. He can see that Irene has been hurt, probably tortured by these bloody terrorists. There are fresh bruises on her arms, some weeks old. She's surely experiencing too much pain.

He'll make them pay. He'll make sure of that. He checked for a pulse and sighed when he felt that she still has one.

"Irene, Irene, wake up Irene. Please wake up. Please-" Sherlock's voice broke. Seeing Irene in such state just broke the dam within him. 'What is this? Am I crying? Why the hell am I crying?', Sherlock thought to himself. The sudden burst of emotions were alien to him. He never allowed himself to feel, and he would never allow it and yet, he's crying because of The Woman. He can't help but blame himself for what happened to her. If only he didn't give her phone to his brother, she would never undergo through so much pain. But he only did what was for the greater good. 'Was it worth it?' he thinks to himself.

Irene didn't budge and stayed limp on his arms.

"Irene, please, please wake up." Sherlock muttered through sobs.

Irene's finger twitched and she started to regain consciousness. Sherlock sighed with relief and planted a kiss on her forehead. "Sentiment?" Mycroft's voice suddenly echoed in his mind. Sherlock would normally try to deny any accusation that he was feeling sentiment, but this time, he wouldn't, he couldn't. His gesture was too full of sentiment and to deny would only mean that he'd be lying to himself. He himself was surprised he did it, but it was like an impulse, as if he was automatically drawn to her and he felt like it was the right thing to do.

Sherlock stared at Irene's face. She had small cuts and scratches on her arms, clearly from the torture she received.

"Sherlock?" Irene muttered.

"Shh.. I'll get us out of here." Sherlock lifted her and carried her to the car. He gently placed her into the passenger seat and took a medical kit from the car's compartment.

"I'm going to treat your wounds. I'll have to remove your abaya." Sherlock told Irene.

Sherlock took the medical scissors and cut through the thin material of the abaya. Irene had no other clothes under the abaya, so Irene was left only on her underwear and her wounds and bruises were in the open and exposed for Sherlock to see.

Sherlock gritted his teeth as he saw a lot of bruises and cuts on Irene's back. Seeing what the terrorists have inflicted on her only fueled the anger he started to feel moments ago. He could only imagine how much pain she's suffering. No wonder she fainted a while ago. An average person could only suffer too much pain, but well, she's not just an average person.

Sherlock looked at Irene and found her looking at him straight in the eye, making Sherlock want to look away. Her gaze always made him feel uncomfortable because he knew that she could read every emotion from the very minute movements of his face muscles. He was not willing to show her any of his emotions, so he tried to keep a straight face. A while ago, when he was being emotional and a couple of tears escaped from his eyes, Irene was unconscious and he's very much thankful for that. Well, he did sound very sentimental when he told her that he'd get them out of the building, but he knew her mind would still be adjusting at that moment, well, he hoped that was the case.

Sherlock started to treat Irene's wounds, making Irene wince from time to time.

Sherlock looked for signs and emotions that would show him how she felt. He took note of every spot and movement of her face, but aside from the bruises that serve as evidence of how much pain she was in, as always, he cannot read The Woman. In her weakest state, The Woman was still able to conceal her innermost thoughts and emotions. This made Sherlock's respect and admiration towards The Woman grow even more.

He knew she was in pain, and he also knew that she was just trying to appear strong. He knew this because, if he was in her position, he would so the same.

People like them dislike being vulnerable. They don't want to show people how they feel because it would only make them appear vulnerable, their weaknesses would be exposed and people might use that against them. This is why he believed that alone would protect him. Not only because he believed that being emotionally involved with someone, whether it be romantic or not, would allow the possibility of him being emotionally hurt, but also because he believed that the people whom he would be emotionally attached to, would only become his weaknesses or pressure points and would therefore allow his enemies to exploit those weaknesses. He was able to apply that on his life, being alone and all, well, until John came. John became his friend, and since then, Sherlock felt protective of John and would do anything to keep his friend safe. Now, another person came into his life, The Woman, and he would do anything to protect her. He'd make sure to make those terrorists pay.

"Thank you." Irene suddenly spoke, with a smile on her lips.

Her voice brought Sherlock out of his reverie. With those words, Sherlock saw genuine emotion in her eyes. She allowed him to see past through her facade and it's a gesture that Sherlock didn't know how to respond to. Well, sure he's used to read and see emotions from his clients, it somehow helps him to solve the cases, but this situation is different. Situations that are linked with The Woman are always different. But he has to respond somehow. A heartbeat passed, his gaze bore on her blue orbs that are looking straight back at him, two heartbeats passed, her gentle smile slowly turns into a teasing smile, but the bruise on her cheek still hurts, so she hissed.

And almost immediately, Sherlock's placid expression changed into something full of concern. "Don't use your face muscles too much. You'd just hurt yourself." Sherlock told Irene. "And you're welcome." Sherlock added.

Irene suddenly felt warmth inside her. Sherlock's words just confirmed that he did save her because he wanted to save her. She really thought she'd die back there. She thought it would be the end of Irene Adler, but she's right here, and the great Sherlock Holmes is treating her wounds.

When Sherlock finished treating her wounds, he gave her a loose dress to wear. It's not the kind of dress that The Woman would wear, but Sherlock knew that tight fitting dresses or clothes would not be good for her wounds and bruises.

After helping Irene in getting dressed, Sherlock went behind the wheel and drove off.

Irene Adler is not the kind of woman that trusts easily, but right now, although she had no idea where Sherlock would take them, she leaned back onto her seat and dozed off, completely putting her trust on Sherlock.


	6. Chapter 6

Irene woke up at the sound of a gunshot.

When she opened her eyes, her head was throbbing. She reached for her temples to massage it, but felt something damp. She looked at her fingers and saw that they were all covered with crimson liquid. Her eyes shot wide open, and all her internal alarms were blaring, telling her that she was in trouble and she had to run, but when she looked up, she felt her blood drain out of her body and it has gone cold, like someone had sprayed her with freezing water, because she was back at the terrorist base, lying on the ground, with guns aimed at her.

Her hands started to tremble as fear engulfed her. What happened? Were they ambushed? The last thing she remember was being in a car with Sherlock. Yes, that's right, she wasn't alone, but where is he, where is Sherlock? She scanned her surroundings hoping to see a familiar face but the detective is nowhere in sight.

Did he abandon her? Did he bring her back here? Did he think that she was better off dead? These thoughts rushed in her mind, causing her heart to somehow ache, like someone was squeezing it. She doesn't want to believe it, but why wouldn't he do it? Why shouldn't he abandon her?

She heard some of the terrorists laughing and kicking something that looked like a pile of black cloth. Near the pile of cloth, she noticed that dark crimson liquid started to pool. It looked like blood, but why would blood pool beside a pile of cloth? Unless, it wasn't a pile of cloth. Then she remembered the gunshot that woke her. The terrorists must've killed someone, but who? A thought that horrified her came to mind, and she shook her head. 'No, no, it can't be,' she thought.

One of the terrorists noticed her looking at the dead body, and smirked. He yanked her upwards and threw her beside the body.

Irene caught a glimpse of the dead man's face and her body went rigid. Tears started to well in her eyes and her lips trembled. The scene in front of her horrified her more than seeing guns aimed at her. It was like a nightmare.

Lying on the floor, was Sherlock with his dark mop of curls drenched with blood. His eyes were still open, and Irene could see his beautiful heterochromatic eyes, those eyes that shone like a gem whenever his magnificent mind was working, but now, looking at it, Irene can't see that same glow, there was no life in them anymore. Instead of a gem, it now looked like cold ice.

Irene reached out her hand to touch his. She hoped that what she saw was nothing but an illusion, and that somehow, it would dissolve once she touched it. But when her hand reached his hand, it did not dissolve, it didn't disappear. That moment, she cried out loud and crawled towards Sherlock's dead body to cradle his head on her lap. "No! Please, no!" she screamed. "Please, Sherlock, please don't die. Sherlock, Please." She cried out repeatedly as she caressed his face. She once promised to make Sherlock beg, but now, who's begging? She was. To whom she was begging, she didn't know, but she still did, hoping that someone out there, if there is someone out there, would hear her pleas and grant it.

Some of her tears landed on Sherlock's face and Irene wiped it. She caressed his cheek and traced his cheekbone. She can still remember the day they first met in her Belgravian residence, and the memory somehow gave her more pain because it reminded her of what Sherlock was, and now he's gone.

Suddenly, her surroundings changed and she's not in the terrorist base anymore. She's in a room that's being consumed by fire. 'Is this an illusion?' she thought. But the heat of the flames felt real, and she was sure that if she went near, she'd get scorched. The sight of the roaring flames made her panic. Somehow, being in the burning room, made her feel like she was a child once more. She started to have difficulty in breathing, not just because of the smoke, but because of great fear.

A wooden beam fell from the ceiling with a loud crash which made her scream. Then, she noticed the weight on her lap. She looked down to check on Sherlock, but instead of the detective, it was an old woman.

The old woman had a wound on her head, as if it got hit by something, and her legs were under a pile or burning rubble. The woman looked familiar, but Irene didn't know who she was. Strangely, the image of the lifeless woman, filled her with grief and she started crying like a kid who felt helpless. She hated feeling helpless. Suddenly, a mirror hanging on the wall shattered because of the heat and made her scream again. When she looked at one of the shattered pieces of the mirror, she saw the reflection of her face, but it's not what she expected. The mirror reflected her face, but it was her face when she was child.

"Irene! Irene!" she heard voices call her, but she can't stop crying. The flames roared around her and it seemed like it was about to engulf her. Then, her vision started to blur, and the sounds started to fade. The voices faded until only one voice remained.

"Irene…. Irene…. wake up Irene" she heard Sherlock say as he gently patted her shoulder.

Irene opened her eyes and she was back in the car with Sherlock, and that they were parked on the side of the road. The terrorist base and the burning room were gone, they were all just a nightmare.

She looked at Sherlock and saw those blue-green eyes with golden specks full of life again, not like those cold eyes she saw in her nightmare. Irene started to cry with relief as she stared at his eyes.

"Irene, are you okay? What's wrong?" Sherlock asked her, completely puzzled.

His puzzled look made Irene smile despite of the horrific nightmare she had. Irene looked away, shook her head and wiped her tears. "It's nothing."

"You were crying, it's not nothing." Sherlock said as-a-matter-of-factly. When Irene didn't reply, Sherlock asked, "Was it a nightmare? You were crying in your sleep."

Irene looked at him and met his gaze. She can see that he was calculating everything, taking in everything, from the way she blinked, to the minutest of movement of her lips. She shook her head again and looked away to hide her smile. She knew that there was no point in denying, and that Sherlock knew she lied, but she did it anyway. She has always enjoyed the constant game between her and Sherlock. The game was simple, yet complicated. The rule was to make the other give in to sentiment, by giving in to sentiment. And for Irene, she'd had too much defeat in one day. First was, Sherlock proved that she needed him by rescuing her, which also was a win for her, because Sherlock saved her as she had always expected and hoped for, second was when she cried for him and begged for him to come back when she thought he died in her nightmare. It was just a nightmare, but still.

Irene thought of her nightmare and remembered the burning room. 'What was that?' The thought of it brought fear in her heart. She can still feel the flames. Why'd did she dream about it? Was it a memory? If it was, why can't she remember the woman?

Irene sighed. 'You're being ridiculous. It was just a dream, nothing more.' she thought to herself. She glanced at Sherlock and saw that he was still looking at her. She smiled and asked, "What?"

"Nothing," Sherlock shrugged and looked away, obviously trying to get back at her for not answering his question a while ago. Irene chuckled as Sherlock started the engine and drove.


	7. Chapter 7

After a long drive, Sherlock finally pulled the car over in front of a big white gate.

“Wait here.” said Sherlock, before he unbuckled his seat belt and stepped out of the car.

He walked towards the left side of the gate, and opened a small computer panel and pressed his thumb on the finger print scanner. The mechanism that controlled the gate whirred to life and the gate started to open slowly and revealed a rather large, elegant and minimalistic designed two storey house.

Sherlock went back to the drive seat, and drove the car inside, and parked it in the carport near the front door of the house.

“Where are we?” Irene asked, as she stepped out of the car.

“We’re in Lahore, Pakistan.” Sherlock answered while he took out his suitcase from the car boot.

“You own this place?” Irene asked, as she admired the house.

“No, it’s owned by someone I know.” Sherlock answered.

“Someone you know?” Irene diverted her gaze from the house to Sherlock, with an inquisitive expression on her face.

Sherlock noticed that Irene’s gaze was on him, so he subtly looked away and answered, “Someone who owes me a favor.”

* * *

_*one month ago*_

_“Why should I help you? I owe you nothing.” Mycroft asked, his expression void of emotion, as if he was negotiating with someone he didn’t know._

_“Someone’s going to die.” Sherlock answered._

_“And? So what if a person dies? It is after all, the only thing that humans can be trusted to do.” Mycroft replied, as he sipped tea._

_“Have you been talking to Moriarty? You sound just like him.” Sherlock said, trying to subtly diss his brother._

_Mycroft raised his right eyebrow at that, obviously aware of what Sherlock meant. “Well, he did contact me during the Bond Air fiasco, which I’m sure you remember?” he said, trying to get back at his brother by reminding Sherlock that he almost sent the whole country in jeopardy, because he deciphered a very valuable and confidential information for the Adler woman._

_Sherlock’s glared at his brother, “Yes, I do remember. Correct me if I’m wrong, but if my memory serves me right, I was able to compensate for the losses you had that night by cracking the code of The Woman’s phone and giving you all the infor-“ Sherlock was stopped short because Mycroft suddenly started to chuckle. “I’m sorry, what’s funny?” Sherlock asked, clearly annoyed for being interrupted._

_“Ahhh… ‘The Woman’, that phrase can mean two things. First, it could be interpreted as your way of degrading her identity by refusing to acknowledge that she has a name, and a name is one of the most prized possession of someone because it signifies honor and dignity, therefore, by disregarding her name, you are dishonoring her, but it could also be interpreted as a salutation. ‘THE Woman’ which would mean that you regard her as someone that’s one of a kind, or someone who matters..”_

_“Don’t be absurd.” Sherlock repudiated what Mycroft was trying to insinuate and glared at his brother._

_Mycroft smirked. “Tell me brother mine, why do you want to help her?”_

_“I already told you, I’m trying to prevent her imminent death.”_

_“Why? Why do you ‘care’” Mycroft said the word with a hint of disgust,“ whether she dies or not? Remember the old woman who died because of Moriarty? I don’t recall you acting this way when that old woman died so, why?”_

_Sherlock racked his brain for reasons that Mycroft would consider as valid, but knowing his brother, he knew that all the reasons he’ll answer will be dismissed by the elder Holmes as irrelevant. He clenched his fists, out of frustration, but then, he remembered the conversation that transpired between his brother and The Woman during the night of the Bond Air fiasco._

_If there’s anything that his brother deemed as important, it would be the things that would benefit his beloved British Government. _

_“Because it’s another way of compensating for the troubles I have caused you that night.”_

_Mycroft raised an eyebrow and cocked his head, “How so?”_

_“Well, a woman like her can be a valuable asset to whatever branch of the government you are in-charge of.”_

_Mycroft’s expression changed from curious, to intrigued. He leaned back on his chair and contemplated on what his brother had suggested. Irene Adler, no matter how much he wanted to deny it, was a clever woman. She did come close in besting the brothers, and bend the government to her will, but Mycroft shook his head. “I admit that it’s an interesting notion, but no matter how much benefits I’ll be able to gain from that situation, it wouldn’t outweigh the disadvantages of it. It’s just too risky. Besides, I’ve got a sufficient number of people at my disposal.”_

_“But you said it yourself, The Woman is better than your henchmen. What was it that you told her, ‘I wish our lot was half as good as you.’ Or is your memory faltering?”_

_Mycroft glared at his brother. “Yes, Ms. Adler can be a very valuable asset, but she can also become a big threat.”_

_“For a fugitive, freedom is paramount. I’m pretty sure she’ll be willing to compromise and agree to your terms if you’ll grant her protection and freedom.”_

_“Do you really think Ms. Adler would do that?” Mycroft sneered._

_“Why wouldn’t she? She’ll be able to live free from the fear of being incarcerated.” Sherlock said. ‘She has to’ he told himself. _

_Mycroft noticed the uncertainty laced in his brother’s voice, and heaved a deep sigh. “Look, brother mine, what you’re suggesting, is promising, because Ms. Adler would be able give invaluable help in my line of work, but I still don’t see why you want to help her.”_

_Sherlock frowned and was about to speak but Mycroft continued on._

_“The way I see it, you’re trying to put a lot of effort into something that you won’t benefit from. The only person who would gain something in this situation is Ms. Adler, so again, why, Sherlock, why?”_

_Sherlock clenched his fists. He knew what his brother was trying to get at, and it frustrated him. ‘What does he want me to bloody say?’ _

_“Look, if you don’t want to help me, then don’t. I’ll do the job myself!” Sherlock stood up and started towards the door. He didn’t know what reason he could give anymore_

_“You can’t. I know about your plan, therefore, I can leak this information to my American counterparts. If I do that, your plan to save Ms. Adler would be pointless.”_

_“Then don’t leak the information!” Sherlock yelled. He was starting to feel hopeless. He wished he didn’t tell Mycroft, but he needed his brother’s help to ensure that The Woman would safely return to London. _

_“And why not?!” Mycroft yelled back._

_Sherlock didn’t reply and just glared at Mycroft. He knew any effort to reason with his brother with be futile._

_Mycroft heaved a deep sigh. “You’ll risk your life saving her, and for what? What could you possibly gain from doing that?”_

_“Because I need to protect her! She’s currently in danger because I gave you her camera phone, and knowing that, I can’t possibly do nothing!” Sherlock yelled. Saying those, somehow gave him relief, because it released some of the pent up emotions that started build up inside of him the night he cracked The Woman’s passcode, but when he saw the look on his brother’s face, he immediately regretted uttering those words. _

_Mycroft was looking at Sherlock intently, frowning, with his hands clasped together in a praying position. Mycroft wasn’t talking, but Sherlock could almost hear his brother’s thoughts. Sherlock was about to open his mouth to speak again, but Mycroft spoke first._

_“Of course. Of course, you’ll protect her, just like you always did.” Mycroft mumbled, almost inaudibly, as he looked down to his cup of tea placed on the table in front of him. _

_“I’m sorry?” Sherlock asked, puzzled. “Always did?”_

_Mycroft looked up at Sherlock, and for a second, Sherlock noticed that Mycroft was startled, as if he didn’t mean to say those words out loud, but Mycroft was able to compose himself instantly. _

_“Do what you have to do, and I’ll do what I have to do.” Mycroft said, as he picked up his cup of tea. _

_“You’ll- help-me?” Sherlock was confused. _

_“Don’t you want me to?” _

_“Well, yes, but just moments ago, you were threatening to compromise my plan by telling your American counterparts about it.” Sherlock’s brows were furrowed. He was really confused because of his brother’s sudden change of heart._

_“Let’s just say that your suggestion about using Ms. Adler as an asset is an opportunity I cannot pass.” Mycroft smiled, as he sipped his tea. _

_Sherlock frowned. He knew something wasn’t right. Mycroft wasn’t telling him something, he can sense it. ‘Was he lying?’ he thought. ‘But why?’ _

_“Go, before I change my mind. And I actually might, if you stay here a bit longer.” Mycroft shooed his brother out of his office. _

_Sherlock, was still confused, but he started to walk towards the door. He was about to turn the knob when he heard Mycroft speak again._

_“Sherlock, one last thing, Mummy is going to pay me a visit next month, and is asking whether you’d like some ‘Ginger Nuts’.” Mycroft asked._

_Sherlock’s confusion doubled-up. ‘Ginger Nuts?”_

_“Well, she probably remembered that you used to inhale those things when you were a kid. Especially when you were out, playing with ‘Redbeard’.”_

_“Between the two of us, you were the one who inhaled food when we were kids, oh, actually you still do.” Sherlock barely suppressed a smile. He just couldn’t help it when he gets the opportunity to satirize his brother._

_“Oh yes, I just remembered that you prefer to inhale something else, something 7% stronger.” Mycroft jibed and smirked, which made Sherlock glare at him. _

_“Go, my mind is starting to change. Be careful, brother mine.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I'm sorry it took so long to update this story. You might be wondering what Irene's dream meant, and all I can say about it is, I'll explain it in an upcoming fic. =D I've left another clue about it, in this chapter, I'm not sure if you noticed it tho. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Comments are treasured by this author, so do leave some, if you're feeling kind.   
xoxoxo


	8. Chapter 8

Irene admired the house. It was elegant and reminded her of the beautiful establishments she used to see in London. The tropical plants and the fountain on the front lawn added to the estate’s charm.

“It’s a beautiful house.” Irene said, as she glanced over at Sherlock.

“It’s called a villa. In this part of the world, houses like these are called villas.” Sherlock stated, as-a-matter-of-factly.

“Oh, I’ll keep that ‘valuable’ information in mind.” Irene replied sarcastically, and gained a glare from Sherlock.

Sherlock walked towards the front door, carrying a black duffel bag with his suitcase in tow. He opened another small computer panel, and pressed his thumb on the fingerprint scanner.

Irene watched Sherlock with curiosity. 'Why does he have access to the advance security system of the villa?' she asked herself. “This villa sure is fancy, with the advance technology and all,” she said, hoping to get a reply that would give her a clue about who the owner is.

“Well, the owner is a bit obsessed with ensuring that his estate is safe and secure.” Sherlock replied, as he entered the house.

Irene smiled, ‘so it’s a he,’ she thought to herself. But the information was too vague for her to determine who it was. So, she decided to ask something that might give her another clue. “And this owner, gave you permission to access his very secure estate?” she asked as she followed Sherlock inside.

“I told you, the owner owes me a favor.” Sherlock replied, as he put down the bag on a black leather couch.

Irene eyed Sherlock. She sensed that Sherlock’s keeping something from her, but as much as she wants to know what it is, her physical body wants to lie down

“Would you like to take a shower?” Sherlock asked out of the blue, which disrupted Irene’s chain of thought.

The question confused her at first, because it was phrased like an invitation she usually received from her past lovers, which were mostly women, but she was talking to Sherlock, a man who considered himself above all things carnal, so he was clearly just asking if she wanted to take a shower. Irene chuckled, knowing Sherlock, he probably didn’t realize this.

“Why are you laughi- oh, oh! I meant, alone, would you like to take a shower alone to clean yourself.” Sherlock awkwardly tried to explain himself, which made Irene smile even more. “I just thought you’d want to, because your abductors surely didn’t allow you to take a bath.” he continued, rather lamely.

Irene’s smile faded. Sherlock’s words suddenly reminded her of the hell she had experienced in the hands of the terrorists. When she noticed that Sherlock started to realize the implications of his words, she nodded and cleared her throat. “Yes, I’d like to have a shower. Where’s the bathroom?” she said to shift the conversation.

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it. He sensed that his words affected her in some way. For a split second, he was able to see through the cracks of her perfect mask, but she was able to cover those cracks and become unreadable again.

“It’s upstairs in the bedroom. You’ll have no trouble finding it, because there’s only one bedroom. There are toiletries in th-“ but before Sherlock could finish his sentence, Irene walked past him and headed upstairs, slightly limping. 

When she finally got inside the bathroom, Irene leaned against the door, and sighed. She didn’t want Sherlock to see how broken she was. Him, seeing how physically broken she was is one thing, but to let him see her emotionally break is completely different, and she can’t afford that.

The words she told him, when she sedated him in her Belgravian residence, echoed in her mind, “_This is how I want you to remember me..”_. She wanted him to remember her as someone formidable, someone worth remembering, and not someone who’s weak, and helpless.

Irene looked at the tall mirror leaning on the wall beside the sink, and saw her reflection. It was the first time she saw herself in a mirror ever since the terrorists held her captive, and she felt like she was staring at a stranger. The image that stared back at her was gaunt-looking. The woman she saw in the mirror wasn’t The Woman, it was a woman who looked powerless and whose life was at the mercy of someone else.

She looked away from the mirror because she can’t bare the sight anymore. She walked towards the tub and stripped all her clothes, revealing the bruises on her arms and torso that appeared black-violet on her milky white skin. She took a bottle of shower gel from the vanity cabinet and poured out almost half of the contents in the tub as she stepped in it and turned on the shower.

The feeling of water sprayed against her skin soothed the aching parts of her body but broke the dam of emotions within her, as if the water seemed to seep into the cracks of her walls, and into her heart. She sat in the tub and hugged her knees as she cried, while half of her body started to get submerged in water and suds.

Who is she? Who is the woman she turned into? Has she really become someone entirely different? Is she no longer Irene Adler? Those were the questions that kept running in her mind as tears from her eyes were falling simultaneously with droplets of water.

She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists as she sobbed quietly. But would she let herself crumble completely? Would she settle on being weak? Those two questions popped into her head and somehow calmed her.

‘Of course, not.’ she thought. She stood up, stepped out of the tub, and walked towards the mirror.

She scanned her image and saw the same reflection she saw a while ago, but now, she felt different. A while ago, seeing her bruises and how gaunt she was, made her feel disgusted with herself because those were the things she considered as signs of frailty, vulnerability, and of being powerless.

‘It all depends on how you perceive things.’ she thought to herself. Yes, she had bruises, and her body is thinner than ever, it meant she was in pain, but it also meant that despite everything she went through, she’s still standing, she survived. Doesn’t that mean she was strong? Yes, she lost all her material possessions, but the great Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective, came to her rescue, because she was able to make him feel sentiment, and right now, it’s all that matters.

‘..until you begged for mercy twice..’ her own words echoed in her mind, and made her smile. Those words of hers were meant as a compliment and a challenge. Unfortunately, that challenge was never settled.

Then, a mischievous idea popped into her mind, and her lips curved into smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys!!!! I know it took me a loooonggg time to update, but FINALLY, I finished the chapter!!! And about this chapter, I just wanted to show that Irene could get broken, despite the tough act she always shows, she also breaks whenever she feels too much pain. But then again, she is "The Woman", so she never stays broken for a long time. Hope you enjoyed it! And uhmm.. the next chapter MIGHT NOT BE SUITABLE FOR EVERYONE, so you know.. just giving you a heads up. *wink*


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